His Body
by zenintheart
Summary: The body of Elijah Goldsworthy tells many different stories. One shot.


**His Body**

**Author's Note: I know I haven't posted a lot recently, I apologize, I am currently working on a new story. I hope to get that first chapter up soon. As for this one shot, writing comes to me in times of intense emotions, like this. I hope you all enjoy it, and if you have enjoyed it please leave a review, and if you haven't enjoyed it please leave a review also. You can also follow me on Twitter: TysonGuthrie. That'd be nice. Anyway, read on.**

His body has lived long enough in its nineteen years to tell a story many pages long, a story Clare Edwards immerses herself in each time it's laid out beside her. She has no regrets when it came to giving him her purity, and she has no regrets when it came to coming back to the boy after all of those years. That night, as his naked body rested peacefully against her side, his flat planed chest fanning across her curvaceous one and his chin resting on her shoulder, Clare Edwards began reading.

The first page she turned to were the scratches on his back, of her own doing, red and parallel, the scratches told a tale of passion. They told a story of the young virgin being filled for the first time, of being subjected to sensations she had previously run from. His mind had been on so many different lands during that time, the more civilized land such as Germany, was worried for her body. The girl was so fragile and he didn't want to break her, as she cried out in pain, his German voice cooed to her, rocking slowly, telling her that everything was okay. The less civilized land such as Burma, was lost in the boiling sensation throughout his own body, and with each cry of passion escaping her lips, his Burmese voice made him thrust faster, pant heavier, shout 'Fuck'.

On to the next page she flipped ferociously, previously all of her discoveries made her feel closer to the beautiful man, warmed her heart and opened her eyes. She didn't know that words of sadness could be presently etched among such a beautiful form. His smell, the mixture of the leather interior of his beloved restored Hearse that he spent much of his time in, the laundry detergent she giggled at as there was no doubt in her mind that Cece had remained the doer of laundry as Elijah transitioned into his further education, the cologne he used, Cool Water by Davidoff did not drown his bodily scent merely accented it, and in times like these when the faint smell of their sex and their sweat was in the air. His taste, his skin tasted of a comfort, it was raw and cherry like in the way of a cherry's skin, his mouth tasted of the coffee in his daily routine, the sweetness of the lip he sometimes bit as nerves set in, and a third taste that could only be described as the staleness in the mouth when one first wakes up.

She trailed her delicate hands down his sleeping body, down his lean chest, sometimes she worried about how skinny he was, she rarely saw him eat and she watched him lose and gain weight pretty consistently. She at times felt upset by the fact that her boyfriend was smaller than she was, but with one touch of his, shyly marveling at her chest, rounding his palms against her hips, she could tell that it couldn't be any other way. So she continued her tickle against his chest down to his hip bones, where she encountered a speed bump of his skin that she had not been familiar with, although she could not see it in the dim lighting so she resigned herself for looking it up when he woke up in the light of the morning.

Contentedly she allowed her hand to venture further down, her goal was not to arouse, simply to explore. She let the pads of her fingers draw bumps as they crossed his thighs and then his manhood. Feeling a stirring she removed her hands from behind the blanket that acted as a shy covering and returned them to his neck where she cradled it and placed gentle kisses on it. They were gentle lovers, but he always wanted to make her feel good and sometimes she just wanted to taste and to kiss, without making him feel the guilt of basking in her touch. With a sigh she nestled further into his chest like a bird drawing in its feathers, and she closed her eyes, and she fell asleep.

She woke up the next morning to the waterfall of a shower, the blackout curtains Eli had put in his dorm windows did nothing to betray the fact that it was the morning. She missed the heat that was coming up from his body as it slept against hers, and she knew that this absence would prevent her from making her way back in to her sleep. She stood up and stretched her legs as she waited for the black in her vision to subside, she didn't bother to dress as she shyly made her way into the washroom. She knew he would never reject her, but she had constantly been afraid that he was afraid of going too far, of her rejecting him, so he was shy when it came to her body. But after last night - there were no boundaries to break and the feeling of freedom to touch was exhilarating. She sneaked the door open and found the glass that was fogged over with humidity. She pushed open the glass door and pushed one leg through, then the other to join its mate on the other side.

It was odd but she could feel him smile. So she walked behind him and wrapped her arms around him from the back gently and leaned up two inches to the base of his ear to whisper the adorable word, 'Hi'. He didn't want to speak, because words often have a way of ruining a moment so he turned his head back and placed a kiss on her matted down locks. She continued the path her hands had traveled down last night and she came to the speed bump again, she must've felt near idiotic when he told her what that bump was, why hadn't she thought of that, why had she forgotten it. It was a scar, about half her finger's width thick that marked the time and place of one of the scariest nights of her life. It was the same place that the switchblade in Mark Fitzgerald's hand had penetrated Eli's thin skin, and it made her tear up silently.

He couldn't have noticed, but in the steam of the hot water that cascaded down their bodies, he wrapped his large bony hand around her smaller one and she was immediately soothed. She reached up and pushed his hair away from the base of his neck and she was startled at the appearance of a name, a name that was burned into his skin, a name that made her want to run the other way because along with this name came so much hurt, and tears. She was touching 'Julia', a tattoo she had never seen before, as his long hair normally covered the spot. But he knew, he could tell as her hand stayed in position on that particular spot, he could tell what she had found. He turned around and he pulled her body into his own, she tried to run away, to escape his grip, but she needed to hear it so he pressed her against the shower wall and melded his lips to hers, she tasted the coffee, and he tasted the berries, and they both tasted desperation. The desperation of lovers who just want everything to be good.


End file.
